How Dubstep Came To Be
by the kid that could
Summary: America hasn't heard from England in a week. He won't admit it. But what has England been up to,anyways? One shot-ish. R&R. Give it a chance.


**So, as most of you probably know, Dubstep was initially created in England. London, England, in the nineties.**

'**Nuff said. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Dammit Leroy.**

It all started with a rejected lunch invitation. Normally after meetings, England and America would head out and get some grub, no matter what country, or place. To England, it was just a lunch outing. To America, it was an opportunity to see how the other was doing, talk about current events, eat, and lastly- flirt. But it was always subtle. So, _very_, subtle.

_The meeting had concluded, with everyone grabbing their things and simply walking out the door. America noticed England was almost done gathering his notes, and shoved his papers in his briefcase before England was done, hurrying over there at all costs, no exceptions-_

_Clearing his throat, he leaned on the conference table. "Hey, England, do you maybe want to-"_

_England held up a hand, looking up. "Get some lunch?" He obviously knew the drill. _

_America was quiet for a minute, until he put on a smile and coughed. "Uh, yeah."_

_Shaking his head, England looked up. "I'm afraid I must say no. I'm working on something at home, and I must finish it soon. Otherwise it will just be a waste of time."_

America had become worried a week after the meeting, well- actually, the minute after he asked England out to lunch (and was rejected), but he told himself he wouldn't admit anything under seven days.

He had called, and called, and called. After a ridiculous amount of calls, he finally stopped, and wondered. _Maybe England is busy!_ That had to be it!

But if it was, England would have at least screamed at him to stop calling, that he's a stupid wanker, to go drink some piss and let him work in peace.

But he hadn't.

America thought a little more, sitting in his office at his apartment, worrying.

Finally, he came to the conclusion that something was definitely wrong with England. Kidnapped. Drugged. Raped. Fell and can't get up. Kidnapped. Lost . Amnesia. Broken bone(s). Choked on tea. One of his faeries choked him. Joined a gang and wanted to run free-

America realized he was scaring himself, and sighed, grabbing his keys with the intent of rescuing England, to be his hero.

**Hours and hours and hours later.**

It was sprinkling in London that day, as usual. The rain made tiny stains on his sweatshirt. When was the last day London actually looked remotely sunny, or resembled something that was sunny? Then again, it wasn't like it mattered. The sprinkly days were England's favorites anyways.

America walked up to the front door, knocking. Even though he felt the overwhelming urge to pull a _Sheldon Cooper_ and knock so many more times than necessary, he didn't. That would just annoy England even more than the phone calls.

After a moment of waiting, America, being the impatient little bee-otch he was, leaned down. He leaned over to the shrubs next to the door, looking through them. As soon as he caught a glimpse of something shiny, he practically crushed it in his palm. He stood up again, turning the old key over and over in his hands. America used absolute precision to put the key in the hole, turning it, opening the door and absently tossing the key back into the shrubs.

He'd fix it later.

Entering England's house, he walked by many rooms. The living room was the room where he tipped over an expensive-looking, beautiful vase when he was little and was spanked. He remembered England being very livid about that vase, saying something about how hard it was to get (steal) from Spain.

The dining room was the room America had to choke down England's awful, horrid food on occasion, and hope not to get food-poisoning.

It was also the same room that America told the other, and stupidly requested for independence, very politely.

If it were only that easy.

After walking past room after room downstairs, he went upstairs and realized that England was probably in his office this whole time… America rushed down the hall, pushing the door to the office open more than gently and barging in to see England.

With a computer.

And head-phones.

England was concentrating directly on the computer screen, clicking every few seconds or so. His monstrous brows were furrowed, and a small smirk was on his face, the tip of his tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He was dressed very casually, a simple blue t-shirt. America guessed he was just wearing jeans, because England wasn't someone who just wear sweatpants with no reason to wear them, like America would.

America walked up to the desk, waved his hand in front of the computer, resulting in a very startled England.

The two were silent.

At first, America had thought that England was playing some sort of computer game, and soon after, realized that couldn't be possible. Because…Because since when did England own a computer? As far as America knew, the other was a definite techno-tard.

America spoke first. "What are you doing?"

England blinked, "Nothing. Absolutely nothing." He tried to play off his answer with a chuckle. "What are you doing?"

"I've called you a lot. Check your phone."

England's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and he opened the drawer next to him, picking up his phone.

"My apologies, I've been working on a project,"

"For a week?"

"Projects take time, America-"

"Show me what it is."

England was quiet, but narrowed his eyes, turning his computer so the screen would face America.

America stared at it, slightly confused. His eyes flickered up to glance at England, who had a very proud smirk on his face.

The unsaid question was in the air.

"It's a song- but I've been modifying it over and over…" England explained, taking the computer back and clicking a few more times. "I believe I'm just about finished."

"Well, yeah, it's been a week!"

"Quiet."

England clicked once more, and the song started playing.

And by the time the song was over, America was speechless. He couldn't tell if England was just plain insane from the beginning, or a genius, but either way he liked-no_, loved_- it.

"That was…Oh my gosh, England," America started, laughing a little bit.

"I'm waiting."

"That was awesome! What do you call it?"

England thought for a moment, and shrugged. "Uh, I…I suppose…Music …?"

America shook his head, trying to replay the song in his head from memory. "How about dubstep?"

**And that, my friends, is how dubstep came to be, hetalia style. LOLOLOL. JK. I have no idea. Hope you enjoyed,R+R,please! FREE COOKIES!**


End file.
